


Shine Your Bright Light

by believeinmycroft



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Ice Skating, M/M, Non-championship AU, Skating, Slash, Slow Build, Yuri is a jerk with a heart of gold, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believeinmycroft/pseuds/believeinmycroft
Summary: ‘Okay,fine,’ says Yuri, throwing an arm across his face, 'his skating was interesting, and he looked like he had a bunch of raw talent but not much technical skill, and he probably hasn’t even been taught by anyone before-‘ he pauses and looks up at Tchaik staring at him still ‘- and I don’t even know why I’m talking to my goddamncatabout this shit when you can’t understand me.’Tchaik meows again and starts licking his paw.-Or, an AU in which Yuri is coerced into working for his grandfather selling pirozhkies at the local ice skating rink during his summer vacation, and hating every single mind-numbing moment of it -- of course, that’s until a tall stranger with dark eyes starts showing up alone at the rink everyday, and Yuri is just too damn curious to ignore him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> > “Open both eyes  
> Shine your bright light  
> Start your round, your time is coming soon  
> Dance as lightly as the wind”  
> 
> 
>   
> \- Symphony No. 9, 2nd Movement “Advent” – Beethoven 

When his grandfather first asks, Yuri’s pretty sure he’s joking.

‘You want me to come work at the pirozhki store?’ he replies. It’s early one morning and they’re sitting at the kitchen table eating cheese dumplings – a treat for the weekends – and his grandfather’s looking at him with that patient, polite expression he always wears when he wants Yuri to do something.

‘Is there a problem with that?’ his grandfather says.

Yuri stares. ‘Don’t you have anyone else who can work there?’

‘Well, Natalya had to move, and Alexei quit recently.’

Yuri scowls. ‘But it’s my summer vacation.’

‘It would only be for a few hours a day, _Yurochka_ ,’ his grandfather says, gently but firmly, and Yuri lets his scowl relax a little. ‘The rest of the time you would be able to do whatever you like and sit in your room with Tchaik as much as you wanted. And it would also just be until someone else got a job there.’

Yuri opens his mouth to protest the suggestion that he has nothing better to do than spend time with his cat, but it’s basically the truth even though he won’t admit it, so he just huffs and leans back in his chair.

‘I still have to practise, though.’

His grandfather gives him a pointed look and Yuri scowls.

The Russian Junior Nationals had been held only a few months before. Even though Yuri had done well he’d just missed out on getting a silver medal, which made him even more motivated to win next time. But there wouldn’t be another championship until the nationals again next year, and even his coach, Yakov, will probably agree that keeping the practice light and steady for a while is a good idea. His grandfather knows him too well.

‘When do I start?’ he says after a minute, staring at the ground sullenly.

‘On Monday,’ says his grandfather, and Yuri looks up to see the hint of a smile beneath that silver-flecked beard. He can’t help but smile slightly back – although admittedly he _was_ looking forward to spending three full months doing nothing but studying skating videos from last year’s Grand Prix and practising triple loops, it won’t be that hard to spare a few hours from his day to help out his beloved grandfather. And hey, it can’t be _that_ boring, right?

  
-

  
Yuri thinks he just might be more bored than he has ever been in his entire fifteen-and-a-half-year existence. And that's saying something, considering last year his class had gone on a day trip to an ice rink _just_ after he’d sprained his ankle in practice, and he’d had to sit on the benches at the side of the rink and glare at the idiots bumbling around on the ice like oversized toddlers just learning how to walk. But even that had been better than this, because at least then he’d been able to laugh when they crashed into each other.

The pirozhki shop is next to where the hire skates are kept, just near the entrance of the skate rink. It’s far enough away from the actual rink that Yuri can only see the heads of the skaters bobbing in and out of view, unless he leans over the counter and stands on his tiptoes to see their feet stumble awkwardly over the ice. Every now and then somebody from the rink clumps over in their skates, looking ridiculous and red-faced from exertion, and asks for a pirozhki from the shop window. It’s a tiny little store and their pirozhki don’t cost much, but Yuri takes a small amount of pride – though he’d never admit it – in the way some of the customers lick their lips before taking a bite, or how they genuinely smile as they walk off, sniffing the warm pastries. Grandfather doesn’t make a fortune from this little place, but he earns enough that they’ve collected a tidy sum of rubles for travel or for when Yuri needs some new figure skating equipment, and Yuri knows it brings his grandfather pleasure to see his pirozhki enjoyed by the public.

But then, when the customers leave, Yuri’s back to standing impatiently at the counter and waiting for someone else to show up.

He isn’t even allowed to check his phone – part of the stupid rules, like being ‘polite’ and ‘welcoming’ and ‘not laughing at the customers when they fall over, Yuri’ – but that doesn’t stop him from subtly bringing up Instagram when his grandfather isn’t looking and thumbing through his newsfeed, searching for updates about his favourite skaters.

It’s uneventful for the most part, just a few new pictures of Victor Nikiforov – _stupid angelic genius_ \- that he likes, so after a minute he puts his phone away and huffs as he leans against the counter. His eyes are drawn once again to the skaters on the large rink, and he leans forward on his tiptoes so he can see them skating across the ice. He smirks slightly as he watches them, seeing almost instantly that no one there, adult or teenager, is better than him. Sure, there are a few skating confidently in big sweeping movements, and even one or two people attempting a half-hearted loop or Lutz. But none of them have the charisma or the grace that Yuri always attempts to convey on the ice; none of the ease or the beauty that the judges always say he has, or the balance or technical ability that get him the higher marks. Yuri would almost snort at their clumsy movements, except he knows his grandfather disapproves of it.

Suddenly, Yuri feels a dull ache in his chest, something like sadness or longing, or even jealousy – it’s a feeling he recognises all too well, because it’s what he always feels when he sees other people skating when he’s not. Despite their lack of talent, they’re still out there skating, and he’s stuck here, bored out of his mind, when all he wants to do is strap on his skates and dance across the ice. Grandfather says this is his ‘siren song’ – like the ice is calling to him, calling him home. Sometimes, Yuri thinks as he looks at the people dancing awkwardly across the ice, wishing that he could join them, his grandfather knows him a bit too well.

And that’s when he sees him.

It’s a man, skating alone on the ice. Yuri’s eyes follow him, drawn almost unconsciously to his form – the guy’s hands are folded behind his back, his black hair neatly cropped into an undercut, wearing a long black shirt, his face almost expressionless – judging from his appearance, just another normal Russian teen enjoying his vacation.

And yet, Yuri can’t look away, and he has no idea _why._

The guy is skating alone, which isn’t exactly unusual in itself, since Yuri skates alone for practice and he knows there are plenty of people who like the solitude.

 _No,_ he realises, gradually aware that his mouth is now hanging open, it’s because of the way the guy is _moving._

He’s utterly enchanting.

He’s not exactly graceful, not like a ballet dancer, but his feet slide so smoothly in front of the other that it seems as though he’s literally gliding – dancing – across the ice, as though he has nowhere he would rather be.

Yuri’s eyes trace the man’s outline; he sees the poise in the man’s shoulders, the peace evident in the soft curve of his mouth, his eyelids fluttering almost to a close as he’s lost in his own dancing, and although technically he’s nothing special and Yuri can see he hasn’t had much training, there’s something bewitchingly beautiful in his skating that it almost takes Yuri’s breath away.

It dawns on Yuri, slowly, that the guy’s skating the same way Yuri feels whenever he’s out on the ice. Like he’s home.

The man’s eyes open just so slightly and Yuri wonders for a minute if he’s going to lock gazes with Yuri, as if he knows that Yuri has been watching him from a distance this whole time. He picks up speed, and Yuri holds his breath, and then the man kicks the toe of his skate sharply into the ice and twists, body turning quickly in the air--

And that’s about the time the man falls over.

Yuri inhales sharply, suddenly conscious how far he’s leaning forward. He peers over the edge of the rink to see if the guy is alright – part concern, part disbelief at the fact that he’d been so entranced by someone who can’t even stay upright. He sees a large sprawl of limbs and someone offering a hand as the guy slowly stands up and brushes himself off.

Yuri snorts and leans back. _Amateur,_ he thinks. _I m_ _ust have been bored if someone as clumsy as that that could capture my attention._

Even if, admittedly, he spends the next hour flashing small glances at the rink to see the guy, for a reason he can’t quite place. Thankfully, his grandfather distracts him with enough chores before he can think too much of it.

  
-

  
That night, Yuri picks slowly at the food on his plate. Usually he loves grandfather’s roasts but tonight his mind seems sluggish, too occupied and tired from working all day to enjoy it. _Among other things._

‘Are you alright, _Yurochka_?’

Yuri looks up. ‘I’m okay,’ he says. ‘Just tired.’ _Well, at least it’s not a total lie._

His grandfather nods thoughtfully. ‘Best to get some rest, then. Bright and early tomorrow morning, don’t forget.’

Yuri musters a slight smile. ‘I won’t forget.’

Upstairs he closes his bedroom door and takes a few steps to slump immediately across his bed. A small hairy lump lands on his back and he turns his head away from the sheet to smile at his cat.

‘Hey, Tchaikovsky,’ he says, shifting so the cat is sitting on his chest. ‘And how was your day?’

‘ _Meow._ ’

Yuri smiles. ‘Well, that’s good to hear. My day was good too, thank you.’ He scratches Tchaik under the chin and grins as the cat starts purring deeply.

‘Well,’ he says, more thoughtfully, ‘to be honest my day was kind of tiring. And there was this one guy …’ He pauses. ‘Wait, why am I even talking about him? He was just another klutz, just like the rest of them.’

Tchaik looks at him accusingly through slanted eyes.

Yuri pouts. ‘He was! Zero talent at all, couldn’t even stand straight.’

Tchaik meows and head-butts his hand.

‘Okay, _fine,_ ’ says Yuri, throwing an arm across his face, 'his skating was interesting, and he looked like he had a bunch of raw talent but not much technical skill, and he probably hasn’t even been taught by anyone before-‘ he pauses and looks up at Tchaik staring at him still ‘- and I don’t even know why I’m talking to my goddamn  _cat_ about this shit when you can’t understand me.’

Tchaik meows again and starts licking his paw.

Yuri sighs. He pulls out his phone and starts flicking through his Instagram feed again, pausing on a few photos of Victor skating – perfect form as always – across the ice. He closes the app and places his phone on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling.

‘I’m going to be as good as him someday, you know,’ he says. ‘Just you wait and see.’

Tchaik meows loudly - in agreement, he hopes.

After a moment, he reaches sideways - carefully, to not disturb Tchaik - and turns off his bedside lamp, and darkness envelops the room.

Yuri’s not sure when he falls asleep – turns out the day really had tired him out after all – but he knows that in that odd space between consciousness and unconsciousness, when a million thoughts are flickering through his head and yet none at the same time, the person that stands out has a harsh undercut and deep brown eyes.

 _I have to find out his name,_ Yuri thinks absently. And then he’s asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, it's been forever since i wrote anything but i've been loving the otayuri something fierce recently so here ya go! ^-^ If you're so inclined you can follow my tumblr [here](https://totallynotanotaku.tumblr.com/) (i post mostly yuri!!! on ice stuff). 
> 
> I'll try to keep this fic updated every week :) Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Yuri remembers why he hates summer so much.

He wakes up to a crick in his neck and his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, and his head fuzzy with half-remembered dreams about skates cutting deep across black ice--

He pushes the images out of his head. _Guess that’s what I get for falling asleep without bothering to get changed,_ he thinks morosely.

Tchaik is curled in a patch of sunlight streaming from a crack in his curtains, dust motes stirring in the air above him.

Yuri half-smiles. ‘Well, at least you're enjoying the weather.’

Downstairs in the kitchen his grandfather has already set out a plate for him, leftover pirozhki from yesterday. Yuri slides back the chair and sits down.

‘Good sleep, Yurochka?’ his grandfather asks as he sits down too, sipping at a cup of thick coffee – probably already his second mug, Yuri can’t stand the stuff though – and Yuri pauses.

‘Couldn’t sleep that well,’ he admits after a moment.

His grandfather looks up. ‘Nightmares, again?’

Yuri nods. His grandfather fixes him with a warm gaze, waiting for Yuri to continue.

Yuri looks away when he feels moisture prickle slightly at the corners of his eyes.

‘Well, you know, you can come talk to me about anything, whenever you want to,’ his grandfather says gently.

Yuri smiles and nods again, still looking down. His grandfather has always been like this, warm and thoughtful, even when no one else was there to cheer him on at games or take him to practice. He’s always cared.

‘Thanks,’ he says simply, pushing away the sudden rush of feeling before it overwhelms him – _Yuri Plisetsky does not cry_ \- and bites into his pirozhki.

‘Good?’ his grandfather smiles warmly, gesturing to the food.

‘Yes,’ he mumbles around a too-large mouthful of beef and rice, and his grandfather snorts.

Yuri grins. A comfortable silence descends on the kitchen, morning sunlight painting the room a warm yellow.

  
-

  
Yuri knows he’s not a patient person.

It’s one of the facts he’s always known to be true about himself – like his obsession with figure skating and cat sweaters, and that if he had the money he would own at _least_ five – maybe ten? – cats because there’s never a thing as too many cats, even though his grandfather would most likely disagree with their house becoming a miniature cat sanctuary—

‘Ooh, so what’s in _this_ one?’

Yuri grits his teeth. ‘Cabbage,’ he says, ‘just like it says on the description.’

The girl giggles, a high-pitched noise that almost sets his teeth on edge. She can’t be much older than him and it’s been a whole _five minutes_ of her uhm-ing and ah-ing over everything. ‘Oh, I see now.’

She leans forward and rests her elbows on the counter.

‘And what would _you_ recommend?’ she says softly.

Yuri blinks, wondering why the hell she’s staring at him with an expression that could only be described as _smouldering_.

‘I-I don’t know,’ he says after a moment, baffled and more than a little annoyed. ‘Probably the beef, that’s our most popular.’

The girl hums. ‘And nothing else?’ She raises an eyebrow.

_Yuri Plisetsky is not a patient person._

‘Yes, something else,’ he says. ‘Please move your arms off the counter.’

Yuri delights in the way her face falls and grows sour as she stands up straight.

‘I’ll have the beef then,’ she says, pulling out a few rubles and slaps them down on the counter.

‘Thank you for your service,’ he says, with a wide smile, as he hands her the pirozhki in a brown paper bag.

She smiles tightly back and walks off, skates clumping awkwardly on the floor.

‘Yurochka,’ says a voice, and Yuri almost jumps.

‘How long were you standing there for?!’

His grandfather chuckles. ‘Long enough to know you deserve a break.’

‘You aren’t mad?’

‘Not at all.’ His grandfather smiles. ‘Now, seriously, you’ve been working very well the past two days, so go have an hour on the ice.’

Yuri beams, the expectation of skating already making his heart a little lighter. ‘Thanks, grandfather.’

Yuri can’t run to get his skates from the car fast enough.

  
-

  
The ice is quiet at this time of day.

There are two rinks here – a small one for the beginners who can barely skate in a straight line, and a large, Olympic-size rink for people like Yuri.

It’s uncluttered, which is normal. Usually, the only people who skate in the afternoon are the professionals and the amateurs who skate as a hobby or for local competitions – especially during summer, when most teens and students are elsewhere on holidays or outside enjoying the sunshine. It often starts getting busy when the adults gets off work and come here to blow off steam, and at nights the rinks are usually packed full of people – couples and families and lone skaters simply enjoying themselves.

 _Like the guy from last night_ , thinks Yuri. For a second he wonders if he’ll see him, then shrugs the idea off. _Doubtful I’ll see him for a while, if ever again._

Yuri laces up his skates, ignoring the fact that the idea of not seeing the guy again makes him feel almost _wistful,_ and then he stands up straight, smiles at the familiarity of his weight resting in his skates.

He steps over the barrier, and tests the slickness of the ice with one foot – they’d just resurfaced it about half an hour ago - and then he pushes off.

And he’s home again.

As Yuri readjusts to the feeling of the ice beneath his feet, he thinks he could try to describe the way skating makes him feel using a million different words and clichés and phrases, and none of them could ever match the way it simply makes him feel  _alive._

He glides across the ice, pushing from side to side as he gathers speed, feels the tiny shudders of his skating blades as they catch on grooves in the ice, tiny imperfections made by other skaters. The chill of the ice rises up to meet him, cools the faint beads of perspiration already gathering at the nape of his neck and at his hairline.

Bending his knees carefully, he crouches down and trails his fingers behind him along the ice, collecting tiny frost crystals that gather on the pads of his fingertips and melt almost as quickly. Yuri smiles.

His skates make a faint _hush_ as they slice across the surface of the ice, smooth as ever. When he’s confident he’s warmed up, he veers left, skating easily to the centre of the rink where few people go except for the real professionals – Yuri is pleased to think he’s among them.

He won’t try out any complex routines here, in a public setting – who knows who might be watching, not to mention it’s considered bad etiquette to do things like quads or flips when there are other people nearby and someone could get badly injured.

 _Doesn’t mean I can’t give them a little performance, though,_ he thinks, smirking.

He decides on a triple toe loop – something relatively easy to start with – and twirls around so he’s skating smoothly backwards. At the speed he’s going, wind rushes through his hair.

_I’ll show them how good a real skater can be._

He checks to see no one is behind him, leads up to the jump with a smooth swipe of his left foot, right, left, right, and then—

Yuri kicks the toe of his left skate into the ice, feels his feet leave the ground, and he’s _flying._

For a second, time changes.

At once he’s exceedingly conscious of his hair swaying in front of his eyes, of the sweat on his palms as he criss-crosses his arms automatically across his chest, of the breath caught in his throat, of the skating rink around him blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colour – the only thing right now is _him,_ here on the ice, hanging in the air like a drop of rain stopped in time just before it hits the ground, he is beauty and grace and _this_ is why he skates, this moment of freedom right here when the rest of the world blurs away and he goddamn _soars._

The moment is over too quick. He counts one revolution, two, _three,_ and then he shudders back to earth again on his right foot, sweeping his left out in a smooth arch and behind him, connecting with the ice again. He pushes his ankles out and angles the skates in so he begins to slow down, finally coming to a gentle stop at the edge of the rink.

He breathes, deep.

A passing skater smiles and gives him a thumbs-up, and Yuri nods politely, trying not to grin too much.

It’s barely been three days since he was last on the ice, but when skating’s as incredible as that, it feels like a lifetime.

Yuri gives himself a moment to catch his breath before pushing off from the edge of the rink again, his knees a little shaky. He can feel the faintest ache in his feet from the jump and knows that if he does many more jumps his ankles will be in need of an ice-pack tonight. _Have to keep it relaxed,_ he thinks, even though part of him wants to skate and dance and jump feverishly until he can barely stand up.

Yuri glides across the ice, swaying slightly to the music coming out of distant speakers.

For now, at least, he’s content with this.

  
-

  
He leaves the ice when enough people show up that he actually has to focus attention on avoiding them and their flailing limbs – _damn amateurs_ – and for a minute he sits on the bench outside the rink, rubbing his sore ankles and feet with well-practised motions. They’ll probably bruise up tomorrow – he did land a bit awkwardly on his last attempt at a double toe loop – but Yuri has gotten used to seeing the purple and yellow splotches on his skin enough times that it doesn’t faze him anymore.

He’s stretching out the toes on his left foot when a group of people stream past him, laughing loudly. Yuri glances up and when he sees couples babbling to each other, arms slung together, he sighs.

Couples are the worst people to share a rink with, Yuri thinks. Always moving at a snail’s pace, taking up extra room, yelping too loudly when they fall down, and always _giggling._

The groups of couples walk past and onto the ice, but it’s the pair at the back that suddenly catches Yuri’s eye.

It’s two men _._

They’re holding hands and shuffled close to each other for warmth - and balance, probably. One of them leans in to the other and says something too low for Yuri to hear, but the other chuckles and ducks his head with a bashful expression.

It’s not like Yuri hasn’t seen gay couples before – every now and then he sees them on the street and on the internet, not to mention figure skating basically _is_ the gayest sport out there, so it's not like he hasn't met his fair share of queer people – but there’s something so sweet about the way the two men look at each other that it warms his heart a tiny bit.

He'd never admit it, though.

The two step onto the ice, grasping onto each other so they don’t fall over, and skate hesitantly off, laughing together all the while.

Yuri watches them go. He hopes they’ll be okay, that they won’t get harassed and someone won't try to fight them or yell at them, but it’s a sad fact that being gay or bi or whatever is seen as a problem where he lives. Yuri still doesn’t know why someone can look at two people simply _loving_ each other, and say that there's something wrong with it. 

He stands up, suddenly feeling gloomy, and walks back towards the pirozhki shop.

Once he looks back, spots the two men staring at each other with pure, uplifting smiles, and something deeply, achingly _sad_ twinges in his chest.

Yuri swallows past the lump in his throat and pushes the thoughts out of his head, pushes away the emotions he's not sure why he's feeling. _I’ll think about that later._

He turns around and keeps walking, making sure he doesn’t look back.

  
- 

  
'You're picking at your food again, Yurochka.'

Yuri lifts his eyes from his plate, looks at his grandfather sitting across from him at the wooden table in their kitchen. 

'Sorry,' he says quietly. 'Just not hungry tonight.' 

It's quiet for a moment, just the distant sounds of traffic and the chirping of small insects enjoying the evening humidity outside.

'Grandfather, what do you think of gay people?'

The words are out of Yuri's mouth before he realises he was even going to say them, and suddenly he can't look his grandfather in the eye and he's ever conscious of his heart beating in his chest.

His grandfather's fork clatters onto his plate.

The silence stretches tensely between them for what's probably only a few seconds, but it feels like forever. 

'Why do you ask?' his grandfather says quietly, and Yuri's heart sinks already. 

'N-no reason,' he says.  _Even I don't really know._

The tension stretches on, still, and when it becomes almost unbearable Yuri finally looks up. His grandfather is gazing at him with a thoughtful expression, and Yuri swallows, hard. 

His grandfather picks up his fork. 'I think gay people have a right to be in love as much as the rest of us,' he says. 

Yuri feels something like relief -  _wait, why would I be relieved?_ \- and nods hurriedly. 'So do I.' 

His grandfather hums noncommittally. 'Anything else you want to tell me, Yurochka?' 

Yuri pauses.  _Do I?_

He doesn't know, still isn't sure why he felt compelled to ask his goddamn grandfather of all people what he thought of gay people, or why  _now_ he's feeling this strange, indescribable feeling in the pit of his stomach-- 

He pushes the emotions away.  _I'll deal with that later._

'No,' he says at last, looking away. 'Nothing else to say.' 

His grandfather nods, clearly unsatisfied but letting it slide for now. For that, Yuri's thankful.

Later, after the dishes have been washed and put away and his grandfather has said goodnight, Yuri lies down on his bed. He thumbs at his phone for a while - too late, probably, until his clock tells him it's now technically morning - but sleep won't come easy even though his body is exhausted.  _Definitely going to bruise tomorrow._

Victor Nikiforov is being his usual flamboyant self, posing with that heart-shaped grin in front of an exotic-looking pool somewhere, sunglasses perched atop his perfect silver hair. Yuri checks the description - Brazil, because why not - and gives it a like, just one among several thousand others. 

 _Victor is probably gay,_ Yuri thinks idly, scrolling through the man's feed, filled with enthusiastic selfies and sepia-tinted photos of admittedly delicious-looking food. It's a poorly-hidden fact that a lot of men in figure skating aren't straight, and if anyone were  _fabulous_ enough to be non-straight, it would be Victor-fucking-Nikiforov. Yuri wonders briefly if Victor's legs would look as nice close-up as they do when he's wearing all that tight, black fabric during competitions--

Yuri thinks he's probably thought enough about gay things for today.

Not that thinking of Victor's legs in his costumes  _means_  anything, per se. Just that it's late. And he's tired.  _Yes, that's definitely it._

He puts his phone on the bedside table and pulls the covers up to his chin, feels the warm press of Tchaik's furry form stretched across his legs. 

And if he doesn't slip into his usual nightmares, but instead wakes up the next morning remembering vague, hazy dreams of strong legs and a black undercut trailing to a sharp jawline ...

Well, that doesn't mean anything, either. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all here's a lil chapter and it's not actually that late hooray *throws confetti*
> 
> sorry about the lack of beautiful otabek in this chapter, i promise he'll start appearing in it more starting next chapter! enjoy :)


End file.
